


Laughing in Love

by MarchnoGirl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BDSM, Dom Draco Malfoy, Dom/sub, Explicit Sexual Content, Feathers & Featherplay, Fluff, Getting Together, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Head Auror Harry Potter, Laughter, Laughter During Sex, M/M, Parseltongue Kink, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Smut, Sub Harry Potter, Tickling, knismolagnia, there's a bit of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:14:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24111133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarchnoGirl/pseuds/MarchnoGirl
Summary: In Harry’s life, things happen by accident. Things like discovering he’s into BDSM; he’s into tickles; and that all of the above is better if Malfoy’s involved.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 36
Kudos: 422





	Laughing in Love

**Author's Note:**

> An anon on Tumblr prompted me 'knismolagnia' (=arousal from tickling or being tickled) and it was immediately so interesting I had to write for it! 
> 
> Thanks to the amazing [keyflight790](https://archiveofourown.org/users/keyflight790) for the beta work, always the best!😍
> 
>  **Disclaimer** : I do not own Harry Potter characters nor its copyright, obviously.😘

Harry was twenty-four the first time he discovered about BDSM and submission, the first time he learned there was no shame in feeling pleasure from submitting to someone else and being on edge of pain. 

It had been casual. One summer night, he pulled a bloke at the pub, and went back home with him. The guy was buried deep into Harry’s arse when he spanked Harry, once, twice, hard, and as soon as he started apologising, “gods, sorry, I’m sorry, I was—”, Harry found himself bucking his hips towards him, gasping, “ _again_ ”.

A year later, Harry had met someone else. Someone from the past, a blond bloke with a snarky tongue and pointy face.

“Malfoy, what the hell are you doing here?”

Malfoy had looked at Harry, chewing on the curly straw of his drink. “Waiting for you, apparently,” he had replied, eyes glinting dangerously.

A lame punch line like that one shouldn’t have worked, Harry knew it. The truth was, though, that Malfoy’s line wasn’t the only thing that drew Harry in. 

***

That week had been a hard one— apparently being Auror, and the youngest Head Auror in a century at that, really wasn’t an easy job and they still hadn’t managed to capture all the escaped Death Eaters. 

Harry was pacing in the kitchen, waiting for the teapot to be ready, thousands of thoughts about the possible positions of the last Death Eaters running through his mind when Malfoy’s voice reached him.

“I’m home!” he said, and it was all it took for Harry to immediately feel relieved. Harry felt his shoulders relax a fraction while a suspicious warmth spread on his cheeks at hearing Malfoy calling Harry’s flat ‘home’.

A few moments later, Malfoy’s lean figure appeared at the kitchen door. 

“Why the long face?” he asked, shoulder leaning against the doorframe, hair slightly disheveled from the Floo powder. He looked so damn beautiful it hurt a bit. 

“Nothing,” Harry said, quickly turning to retrieve the teapot and pour two cups of tea. “How was your day?” he asked as he levitated the cups to the table.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow and stepped into the kitchen, sitting at the table. “C’mon sweetheart, just tell me.”

“I said nothing, Malfoy,” Harry snapped, letting the mugs drop on the table with slightly more force than necessary.

As soon as the words were out of Harry’s mouth, he realised the mistake he had made.

The silence that followed his statement was unbearable. Harry risked peering into Malfoy’s face, which looked _disappointed_. 

Fuck.

Malfoy’s eyes bore into Harry’s, focused. “Let’s say I want to be magnanimous tonight,” Malfoy said, voice steady, calm— _too_ calm. “I’ll ask you once more.”

Harry gulped, then nodded. 

Malfoy continued. “What. Is. Wrong?”

“I… I’m just tired, is all,” Harry muttered. He sat down in front of Malfoy and picked his mug up. 

“I see. We should do something for that, shouldn’t we, sweetheart?” Malfoy’s voice was still terribly calm, having the exact opposite effect on Harry’s nerves. 

Harry buried his face in his mug and in no time, his glasses fogged up. Not being able to see Malfoy’s face gave him a boost of courage. 

“ _You_ should do something for that,” Harry drawled, not able to resist the small smirk playing on his lips.

The glasses cleared in time for Harry to see Malfoy’s jaw clenching tight, regal and elegant in its anger. Dear lord, but Harry liked to rile his Sir up from time to time.

“Go to the bedroom,” Malfoy ordered. “ _Now_ ,” he then barked, effectively making goosebumps burst across Harry’s skin. 

Harry got up, rushing to the bedroom, knowing when the moment was to stop pushing Malfoy. He sat on the bed and waited, not knowing what Malfoy would be up to this time.

What felt like an eternity —but was probably only a minute— later, Malfoy appeared at the door. He was barefoot and advanced graciously towards Harry, stopping right in front of him.

“Undress,” he instructed, his voice gentler now. “The safeword, sweetheart?”

Harry started undressing, slowly pulling his Auror robes off like he knew Malfoy liked it. “Watermelon,” he replied. “ _Sir_.” The ‘s’ unrolled pleasantly on his tongue and Harry realised he’d spoken Parseltongue without meaning to. _Again_. 

He looked up to check Malfoy’s reaction to it; as always, his lips were parted and his eyes were darkened. Harry conceded himself a small smile before taking off his trousers and pants and finally lay on the bed completely naked.

Malfoy climbed on the bed too, parting Harry’s legs to sit in between. He trailed his fingers down Harry’s thighs, feather-light, stopping at Harry’s hip bones. He smirked, then curled his fingers and Harry’s muscles clenched as his teeth sank into his bottom lip. 

“Already so sensitive,” Malfoy whispered, hands still now. “You’re so beautiful, sweetheart.” 

Harry sucked in a breath, feeling his chest expand with the praise. He wriggled against the sheet, looking eagerly up at Malfoy.

Malfoy licked his lips. “Here’s what we’ll do.” He closed his eyes and spelled himself naked, wordlessly and wandlessly, his clothes disappearing into a neat pile on the chest at the foot of the bed. His hard cock jutted out, swollen, the tip reddened and shiny with pre-come. Harry’s mouth watered.

“I’m going to tie you up,” Malfoy said as he opened his eyes. He _Accio_ ed the black rope, his favourite. “Then I’m going to tease you,” he continued and this time, a long dark green feather flew into his hands. Harry’s breath hitched in anticipation. 

“You can’t breathe a word until I say so. And when you’re going to speak, you’re gonna use Parseltongue, unless you need to use the safe word,” he concluded, looking satisfied, his eyes bright. “Am I understood?”

Harry nodded, feeling every fibre of his body vibrating as he worried he’d not be able to contain his laughter at the feather’s teasing. But that was always the best part; Malfoy knew exactly how far to go with the teasing, and Harry always loved showing how much he was willing to take to please his Sir.

Malfoy smirked. “That’s a good sweetheart,” he whispered, laying the feather on the blanket next to Harry’s hips. 

With a swish of Malfoy’s hands, two stirrups appeared at the end of the bed and the rope wrapped itself around Harry’s ankles, clasping them to the stirrups. That position used to make Harry feel extremely embarrassed and vulnerable, especially after a second spell was cast and black satin covered Harry’s wrists and tied them to the headboard.

In the end, it had become one of the most arousing things for Harry. To be comfortable enough to expose himself like that. It was liberating. It was freeing and Harry loved how Malfoy’s eyes never failed to caress his entire body, exposed to Malfoy’s mercy.

“So gorgeous,” Malfoy murmured. Sometimes Harry wondered if he realised the things he said to Harry in these moments— but of course, he did. Malfoy never left anything to chance.

In no time, Malfoy’s hands were on Harry’s body again. He brushed his fingers to Harry’s ribs, ever so slightly, roaming them up and down, his eyes intent on Harry’s.

Harry writhed under his touch, his lips involuntarily stretching into a grin, his hands closing into fists. Malfoy had just started and Harry was already dying to just open his mouth and cry out loud and laugh and laugh again.

Slowly but inexorably, Malfoy’s fingers reached the highest part of Harry’s ribs, just inches from his armpits, and they curled, the nails scratching Harry’s sensitive skin, and Harry’s body jerked violently in response. He shut his eyes and bit his lips, feeling the need to laugh more intense than ever.

Malfoy, however, was unrelenting. He kept scratching his nails over Harry’s ribs and now Harry’s legs were struggling too, his toes curling so hard he’d felt the first cramps radiating from his feet. 

Harry opened his eyes to see Malfoy’s normally composed face slightly undone, his eyes crinkled at the sides, lips tight as if he were trying to resist talking or laughing himself.

The first time they’d done this, it was by accident, and Harry wondered just how many things in his life could happen like that, by accident.

Malfoy was fucking between Harry’s thighs, clumsy, roughly, his mouth close to Harry’s ear. His breathing was quick and shallow and wet against Harry’s neck and then he moved slightly and the puffs of air coming out of Malfoy’s mouth directly blew on Harry’s ear and he’d snorted. So hard. 

Malfoy had frozen and done it again. Harry had shaken his head, cried out, “Stop, stop, it tickles!” and Malfoy had found it amusing, the berk. It hadn’t been to anyone’s surprise that Malfoy loved torturing Harry during sex— a bit much of a surprise for Harry to learn just how much he liked being tortured, especially by Malfoy, in bed.

And Malfoy had immediately seized the new opportunity, discovering new way and parts of Harry’s body to tickle and torture him daily. 

It seemed like a lifetime ago. The truth was that Malfoy had found Harry’s laughter irresistible, apparently. It was a win-win, really.

And Harry saw the exact moment Malfoy, his Sir, let a layer of his hard mask fall down and gave Harry one of his favourite orders.

“Laugh, sweetheart,” he said, his own lips stretching into a smile. “Just laugh, let it go.” 

As Malfoy’s hands descended to scratch and brush against Harry’s inner thighs, Harry finally opened his mouth, tasting blood for how hard he was biting on his lips. 

Broken laughter started leashing out of him, as his body kept wriggling and writhing under Malfoy’s hands. His breath caught in his throat and tears prickled behind his eyelids— another wave of laughter came out of Harry’s mouth and Malfoy giggled, his fingers now brushing the underside of Harry’s balls.

“Merlin, you couldn’t be more beautiful,” he said, suddenly stopping his tickling. 

Harry gulped a big breath, trying to steady himself. A couple of giggles escaped him again as he redirected his gaze to Malfoy’s eyes which were fixed on Harry’s cock, hard and wet against his own stomach. 

Slowly, Malfoy slid backwards until he bent down, his face mere inches from Harry’s cock and Harry saw the exact moment his eyes glinted mischievously. The feather perked up swiftly, and a devilish smile appeared on Malfoy’s face.

“Stay still,” he said, and then he started blowing air on Harry’s groin, the tip of his cock, his balls. He dragged the tip of his tongue where the inner part of Harry’s thigh met his groin at the same time as the feather started flicking over Harry’s stomach.

“Fuck!” Harry cried out, his eyes widening to the point of pain, trying to stay still, but he knew he’d never resist. Malfoy snickered against Harry’s skin, and blew some more air over the wet patches he left, and the feather was now brushing against Harry’s neck—

“ _Ican’tIcan’tIcan’tIcan’t”_ Harry chanted in Parseltongue. He hoped it would lessen his guilt when his whole body convulsed, his muscles tensing as he pushed his hips up. Malfoy’s hands immediately gripped his hips and pushed them down into the mattress, and he straightened, looking into Harry’s eyes. 

Harry was still wriggling, the feather now grazing under his arms, his chin, and he kept laughing, a broken high-pitched sound— he had no idea how Malfoy could find him sexy in this state.

With a curt gesture of Malfoy’s hand, the feather stopped and Harry had a second to relax before realising he had done everything wrong. Sweat was gathering at his temples, his hair was sticking to his forehead and he had moved when clearly not allowed to. More than once. 

“You’ve been a very bad boy, sweetheart,” Malfoy said, but his words held no real threat. He was affected by this just like Harry, he realised. Not a lot of things could make Malfoy this soft, but Harry’s laughter. 

“You’ll have to resist just some more,” he continued, cocking his head. “I’m giving you a choice: you either move or speak.”

Harry threw his head back against the pillow, trying to gather his thoughts. He’d never be able to stay still, but he could shut his mouth. 

“I’d rather move, Sir, please,” he said, and found that his voice was wrecked and scratchy. 

Malfoy nodded and the feather was now grazing along Harry’s cock, still painfully hard and neglected until then. As the feather moved lower, Malfoy’s hands resumed their stroking on Harry’s inner thighs and Harry moaned, softly, hoping it wouldn’t count as talking.

A second later, the feather was stroking right across Harry’s arsehole, the tip lightly pushing in and Harry was glad he could move because he arched his back and the feather slipped just that bit inside of him and Harry trembled, feeling pre-come leaking out of his cock. 

He understood, however, what a mistake had been to choose not to speak when the light touches of the feather weren’t nearly enough, and he wanted to cry, to laugh, and to _beg_ , to just beg for Malfoy to fuck him already.

“Had enough, have we, sweetheart?” Malfoy asked, tone sweet. Harry swallowed, feeling his throat burning dry at the need to laugh and let his begs out. 

But he knew better than to answer that question now. Harry looked at Malfoy, stomach clenching and unclenching while the feather kept stroking Harry’s arsehole, sliding up towards his balls and then lower again. 

“So good,” Malfoy said. “So good and beautiful. Will you laugh one last time for me, sweetheart? One last time and then I’ll fuck you so hard you won’t remember your name anymore. Would you like that?”

Harry took a deep breath and nodded. “Please, Sir,” he hissed. Malfoy may not speak Parseltongue but they’d fucked a reasonable amount of times by now that he knew exactly what it meant when Harry slurred those words.

Leaning so that his arms bracketed Harry’s head, Malfoy lowered and took Harry’s mouth in a slow, sweet kiss. His tongue dragged lazily on Harry’s bottom lip and Harry heard himself mewling, honest to Merlin, _mewling_.

He was starting to relax when the feather returned to stroking Harry’s stomach, the dimples at his hips, and he laughed, body trapped by Malfoy’s weight, face inches from Malfoy’s.

Malfoy was laughing too, and kissing Harry’s jaw, neck, ear. “Beautiful, gorgeous,” he was saying between laughter. “You’re so beautiful when you laugh, sweetheart. You like it, don’t you?” Malfoy seemed not able to stop talking and the feather was completely wild on Harry’s skin now, his nerves a wrecked mess.

“You laugh and you look so carefree and you don’t have to do anything else but laugh,” Malfoy’s voice was soft against Harry’s cheeks, a soft contrast to the tingling that was running through Harry’s entire body.

“Head Auror Potter, so serious, look at you now.” Malfoy jerked his head up, looking into Harry’s face. The feather slowed to almost stilling. 

Malfoy’s cheeks were blotched red, and his lips were fixed on a bright beam. “Only I get to see you like this. Beautiful, my love, gorgeous.”

The feather’s touch was gone but Harry laughed again, just because yes— Malfoy was right.

Just because he could, with Malfoy, like this, naked and hard, so hard, and happy, so happy.

“Only you,” Harry whispered, amused. A couple of tears slowly rolled down his temples. “Sir, my love,” he said as Malfoy’s eyes softened and his cockhead pushed inside of Harry.

Harry was twenty-five the first time he discovered he was in love with his Sir. It happened by accident. 

Harry laughed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I'd love to know what you thought of this, kudos and comments are always highly appreciated~~  
> You can also come find me on Tumblr, [@drarryruinedme7](https://drarryruinedme7.tumblr.com/). ❤️


End file.
